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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814664">Historia Vitae Magistra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/pseuds/herewestandinfireandblood'>herewestandinfireandblood (fairytale_bliss)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amor Vincit Omnia [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Jorah Mormont Lives, Mild Sexual Content, S8 AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:26:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/pseuds/herewestandinfireandblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[Showverse] “Well, we have a bit of time before court resumes. And there’s a very, very special book which your papa is in. Would you like to see it?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amor Vincit Omnia [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Historia Vitae Magistra</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/gifts">clarasimone</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was inspired  by another one of clarasimone's prompts from the Spring Jorleesi Equinox. When I first read the prompts this was the one that I initially thought I would write, but at the time I could think of no ideas...so I put it on the back burner. Then I did get an idea which I thought I could tie the prompt in with, so here is the result.</p><p>Clarasimone's prompt was: "In GOT time or any other context, Daenerys sees Jorah do something mundane and this simple thing she sees him do makes her fall in love with him, or makes her fall in love with him all over again if they are already a couple." </p><p>It doesn't follow the prompt precisely, because the love scene is but a few sentences long, nor do I think I invested in or detailed Daenerys' perception and reaction to the feeling because it's not necessarily the main draw of the fic, but I hope it is enjoyable nevertheless.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gods, holding court can be dull at times.</p><p>Daenerys drums her fingers against the arm of her throne. This one, no doubt, is more comfortable than the Iron Throne was, but even her arse starts to go numb after sitting on it for so long. Person after person is given leave to enter, and she listens to their grievances with varying degrees of raptness depending on their qualms. Tyrion sits on her right, an ever present. She rotates the rest of her council to give them some respite from the endless monotony, but she doesn’t have the same luxury.</p><p>Jorah often finds excuses to keep away, too—namely their daughters.</p><p>He’ll be with them now somewhere in the Red Keep, claiming that he’s keeping them entertained. Before he would stand guard over her religiously, but she knows how dull he finds these proceedings, especially now he’s consort. He can’t pass sentences like she can, but she would like to have him there to listen. She values his opinion.</p><p>But Jorah is a stubborn bear, and he shies away from any kind of publicity. Taking care of the children is the perfect excuse for him, and she can’t  be too exasperated with him because she knows how much their daughters idolise him.</p><p>Mormonts, she thinks with amusement, they have a way of getting inside the heart.</p><p>At long last the low lord in front of her stops his rambling. Daenerys sits up in her seat.</p><p>“Yes, thank you. We’ll take some time to consider and we’ll have an answer if you come to court next week.”</p><p>The man bows. “Thank you, My Queen.”</p><p>Daenerys waits until he’s shuffled out of the throne room before turning to her Hand. “I think we should adjourn here for a while.”</p><p>Tyrion smirks at her. “You stopped listening halfway through that, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Of course not!” She bristles, pointedly ignoring that look. “But we’ve been doing it for hours, we deserve a break.”</p><p>“Which means you haven’t been listening.” Tyrion tips her a wink. “I don’t blame you. He was rather dull. However, I had experience of suffering my fucking idiot nephew blathering on and on, so I’ve become quite adept at listening to people I can’t stand. And it’s <em>my </em>job to make sure you haven’t let any details slip by.”</p><p>“I suppose.” Daenerys gives a grudging nod. Tyrion <em>is </em>good at his job. He’d made calamitous mistakes when they’d first landed in Westeros, and their relationship had been so strained and frayed that it had been hanging by a thread. Sometimes Daenerys thinks it might have snapped entirely if Jorah hadn’t survived the Long Night. He was the one to smooth things between them, which she finds amusing since Jorah hasn’t always <em>liked </em>the littlest Lannister.</p><p>And Jorah has helped her, more than she can put into words. Guided her when she needed him the most, stood by her side when the ground began to crack beneath her feet, those fissures threatening to break everything she’d worked towards. He could have pledged his sword to Jon as Lyanna Mormont did. He refused with stubborn vehemence. She will always remember those words he spoke to her from his sick bed.</p><p>
  <em>You are worthier than anyone.</em>
</p><p>And then, when they marched south to free King’s Landing from Cersei, he had been right there at the head of her armies, where he belonged, ready to do whatever it took to see her where he said <em>she </em>belonged.</p><p>Those weeks made her see what she had slowly started to comprehend in those long weeks of his recovery.</p><p>That final confrontation made her admit it to herself.</p><p>“Then it’s settled,” says Tyrion, breaking through her musings. “I’ll go over it again with you later when our headaches have cleared. And then hopefully we’ll have some outcome to please him by next week.”</p><p>“I doubt it,” Daenerys mutters, rubbing her temple.</p><p>“Just make sure I’m well out of it by then,” Davos jokes as he follows them. “I don’t think I could survive all that droning again.”</p><p>“You’ve survived worse than that, Onion Knight. A veteran of four huge battles, are you not?”</p><p>“Aye, but at least they were exciting. I fear I might be bored to death by <em>him</em>.”</p><p>Tyrion snorts. “Well, that’s true enough. “Now, how about we have a drink before we resume?”</p><p>“I think I need one,” says Davos. “Lead the way, Lannister.”</p><p>“Don’t get drunk!” Daenerys shouts after them.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Mother, we won’t!” Tyrion calls over his shoulder.</p><p>“Lannisters,” she mutters, a trait she’s noticed she’s picked up from her husband.</p><p>The thought of Jorah is always enough to cheer her. She knows exactly how she will spend her break from queenly affairs.</p><p>Moving through the Red Keep, she comes across Arya Stark milling about in a corridor, looking out across the city. Daenerys calls out to her.</p><p>“Have you seen Ser Jorah around?” she asks.</p><p>“I think he was in the library,” Arya says. “Daenora wanted to go there.”</p><p>And Jorah indulged her whim like it was his sole mission in life to fulfil. Their eldest daughter has him wrapped around her little finger. She is the apple of his eye, their miracle baby.</p><p>And so much like her father it takes her breath away. Both in looks and in her mannerisms. There’s more bear than dragon there.</p><p>Which is a direct contrast to Eleana, who has a dragon’s courage and a dragon’s arrogance when it comes to this strange world they live in.</p><p>They’re both perfect.</p><p>She thanks the young Stark and carries on, her feet treading the now-familiar path to the library.</p><p>She hears their voices as she approaches. She smiles, letting them wash over her. Jorah’s, low and melodious. Daenora’s, high and sweet.</p><p>Not wanting to interrupt, she slows her pace, letting their muffled words become clearer.</p><p>She stops short outside the door, her hand resting on the warm, worn wood as the subject hits her.</p><p>
  <em>Her.</em>
</p><p>Well, perhaps not her directly, but…</p><p>“It wasn’t all fire and blood, little love,” she hears Jorah saying. “We’ve had plenty of good Targaryen rulers down the centuries.”</p><p>“Like Mama?”</p><p>“Mama is the very best. But Aegon the Conquerer was prosperous once peace was restored, and I don’t think there was ever a better rule than King Jaehaerys’. Good Queen Alysanne was adored throughout the land.”</p><p>“People say Grandfather was a bad man.”</p><p>“It’s not as simple as that. He did bad things at the end. <em>Very </em>bad things. But bad things happened to him too. There were things that warped him. And there’s bad and good in every family, not just yours. But the Targaryens are the most famous, so their stories are the most well-known.”</p><p>“I guess. Do you know about the Dance of the Dragons? Will you teach me more about everything?”</p><p>Jorah laughs. “How old do you think I am, lass!? I wasn’t here at the beginning of time you, know.”</p><p>“But you know <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>“That’s a bit of a stretch. I know <em>some </em>things. Like I know that I love you and Eleana and Mama very, very much.”</p><p>“Papa!” Daenora squeals, and Daenerys hears him showering kisses on her little face. She smiles. He is so wonderful with them.</p><p>After a moment, Daenora asks, “How come there’s so many stories about Mama’s family but none about yours?”</p><p>“Well, the Mormonts are only a small house and not big enough to be in the history books.”</p><p>“Oh.” Daenerys can almost hear Daenora considering it. “But you’re famous, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Not nearly as famous as other warriors.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>think you’re the best,” Daenora declares, as if that’s the end of it. The conviction of children is beautiful.</p><p>“And I shall treasure that forever,” Jorah responds. “Now, how about we strike a bargain?”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“It’s a bit like a promise. How about we both promise to learn more about your Targaryen heritage together? Would you like that?”</p><p>“Yes!” Daenora says enthusiastically.</p><p>And it hits her then, all over again. Not for the first time, doubtless not the last.</p><p>That rush in her chest, the warmth that spreads from her fingers to the tips of her toes.</p><p>It’s not like it was the first time. A rising wave on a stormy sea, climbing higher, higher, crashing over her and sweeping her away, drenching her, filling her lungs, her throat, robbing her of breath. Illuminated with the crackle of lightning, joyously proclaimed in the roar of thunder.</p><p>This is the gentle lap of babbling water at her feet, like the streams on Bear Island. Crystal, refreshing, familiar.</p><p>Falling in love all over again.</p><p>It’s about time she made herself known. Clearing her throat, Daenerys pushes open the door.</p><p>The sight that greets her has her heart contracting in her chest. Jorah sits in one of those hard wooden chairs with his legs apart. He’s supporting Eleana on one of his thighs with an arm around her middle. Their little dragon-cub is sleepy and warm in her father’s embrace. Daenora balances on his other knee, gazing up at him with the kind of undisguised adoration only a child can have.</p><p>Jorah looks around as she enters. “And here’s Mama!”</p><p>“Mama!” Daenora calls. She wriggles from her father’s lap and runs across the room on stocky legs. Daenerys bends down to catch her as she flings herself at her legs.</p><p>“Hello, sweetling,” she says, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Are you being good?”</p><p>Daenora nods vigorously. “I am! I’m learning!”</p><p>Dany sneaks a look at her husband, whose ears have gone suitably pink. “Oh? What’s that, then?”</p><p>“About our family! Papa has promised to teach me more!”</p><p>“That sounds very fun,” Dany says. She gathers her eldest into her arms and stands with a huff. At four, Daenora is getting too big for her to carry like this. Jorah still makes it look effortless; no doubt he’ll still be able to carry her in four more years. That fills her with a sad sort of yearning sometimes, at how fast time is moving and how stopping it is beyond even the powers of a queen.</p><p>“How was court?” Jorah asks, switching Eleana so she’s comfortable against his chest so he can also stand. He crosses the room to greet her properly, dipping in for a kiss.</p><p>“Dull,” she answers. “You had a lucky escape. But don’t worry, it’ll be your turn soon.”</p><p>He pouts. “I’d rather watch the children.”</p><p>“I know you would. But you need to make appearances <em>sometimes</em>. Missandei or Gilly will look after the children. And don’t you have some drills this afternoon?”</p><p>Jorah groans. “Gods, don’t remind me.”</p><p>“You can’t shirk all of your duties. Besides, the City Watch needs you. You’re the best warrior we have.”</p><p>“Hardly,” he grumbles. “But of course I will do my duty. I’ve done that for years, haven’t I?”</p><p>She offers him a quick smack to the shoulder but doesn’t deny him another kiss when he bends in, giving her that cheeky, boyish grin that crinkles his eyes. “Watch your tongue, or you’ll have the dragon’s wrath.”</p><p>“Is that such a bad thing?” he murmurs, looping his arm around her waist and adjusting Eleana in the crook of his other so she doesn’t get squashed between them.</p><p>Daenora eyes them curiously so Dany deigns not to answer, though she is unable to mask the smirk that tugs on the corners of her mouth.</p><p>“For that you can attend court with me next week.”</p><p>“Gods, that’s not fair.”</p><p>“It’s very fair.”</p><p>“Khaleesi…”</p><p>There it is, the wheedling tone, the sad eyes, the beseeching touch, all perfected to melt her. Well, she won’t allow that to affect her. Dragons are already molten creatures.</p><p>“I’ll take the children for a while,” she days, dismissing his attempts to win her over. “Eleana looks as if she’ll fall asleep at any second. I’ll get her settled and ask Gilly to look after her until court is finished for the day.”</p><p>“Can I come to court with you, Mama?” Daenora asks.</p><p>“If you like. But you have to promise to be good.”</p><p>“I will be,” her little girl answers with all of her father’s solemnness. Daenerys fights a smile. Doubtless she won’t be able to keep it up until the end of court. These affairs are dull for young children, but she can’t deny her anything, especially when she looks at her with the same expression Jorah does. And it won’t harm them to see justice at work, even if they don’t comprehend it yet. Davos will take her if she gets bored; he will be glad of the escape, and he seems to have an affinity for her. Says she reminds him of the Princess Shireen, who was by all accounts bright and precocious and robbed of her chance to live.</p><p>“See you later,” she says to Jorah. With a sigh, he passes Eleana into her arms. Their youngest blinks sleepy eyes but soon closes them again, getting comfortable in her mother’s familiar embrace.</p><p>“Bye,” he says mournfully.</p><p>“Have fun showing those arrogant young men what it means to be a soldier.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes at her teasing, passing his hand over Daenora’s head as he passes. She gives him a bright wave, then turns to her.</p><p>“Are we going?” she asks hopefully.</p><p>“Soon. We’ve a bit of time yet. Let me get your sister settled.”</p><p>Daenora pouts. “Okay.”</p><p>As they make their way down the corridor, Daenerys asks casually, “So, what did Papa tell you about his family?”</p><p>“Not much,” her daughter sighs. “He says the Mormonts aren’t a big house.”</p><p>“They’re not, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t done great things. A Mormont married a Stark once, you know.”</p><p>Daenora’s eyes light up. “Really!?”</p><p>“Really. Legend has it she took on a pack of wolves when she was twelve, killed two of them, and sew a cloak from their fur. This was in King Jaehaerys’ day. The north loved her, and she gave them two strong Stark boys and a daughter as tough as winter too. And your father’s immediate family is just as renowned. His cousins and his aunt fought bravely for the Young Wolf in the War of the Five Kings and lost their lives defending him. Your grandfather was a man of the Night’s Watch, its lord commander.”</p><p>“Like Papa is now?”</p><p>“It was a bit different. Your grandfather led the Night’s Watch for a great many years. He went beyond the Wall a hundred times.”</p><p>“Really!?”</p><p>“Really. I imagine he saw all kinds of strange creatures.” And ones of horror. Jon had said that he was one of the first people to ask for help from the realm, though none ever came. Doubtless the rest of Westeros believed he had turned into a doddering old fool in that frozen hell.</p><p>“Why does Papa never talk about him?” Daenora asks softly now.</p><p>“Papa had a…difficult relationship with him,” Daenerys says.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Well, there were lots of reasons,” Daenerys says. Too many. Jorah has confessed them all deep in the night, wrapped in her arms, perhaps feeling safe from judgement for the first time in his life. Either way, they’re not her reasons to tell. Daenora is too young to understand and if Jorah ever wants to tell her he will. “But everyone says he was one of the best leaders the Night’s Watch has ever seen. And as for your cousin Lyanna, well, there’s no woman braver.” The young girl’s assassination of a fully grown giant is legend, sung about in a thousand songs. House Mormont might have been a small house, but it made itself known on a heroic level on the Long Night. Now it’s seen as one of the most desired houses around, though Lyanna has shown no interest in accepting any of the countless marriage proposals she’s had.</p><p>“I want to be a warrior,” Daenora says wistfully.</p><p>“Well, one day you might be.” She’s not sure how pleased Jorah would be, though. As much as he is all for women being held to the same highs as men, when it comes to his own little girl he might feel differently.</p><p>“But Papa is the best of all,” Daenora decides.</p><p>“He is,” Dany agrees. “Can you keep a secret, my love?”</p><p>“Yes!” her little girl says, though Dany isn’t sure how true that is, for just that morning she had told her mother that Eleana had broken Dany’s favourite vase.</p><p>“Well, we have a bit of time before court resumes. And there’s a very, very special book which your papa is in. Would you like to see it?”</p><p>Daenora nods vigorously. “Yes!” Her little face shines with delight.</p><p>“Then let’s go,” Dany laughs, and Daenora’s little hand sneaks into hers. It’s the greatest feeling in the world.</p><hr/><p>Daenora bounces about impatiently ad she waits for Eleana to settle. After giving Gilly instructions to fetch her if she needs her, Daenerys departs with her eldest daughter.</p><p>Their destination is one that she rarely sets foot in herself, for it’s Jorah’s domain. The White Sword Tower is located on the side overlooking Blackwater Bay, high above the other buildings. Jorah’s quarters lay on the third floor, but that’s just a statement now, a place he can go to brood if he wishes. He barely used them in the two years before their relationship went public, for she preferred her own quarters—not that she was opposed to sneaking in to him here. He hadn’t liked taking that risk, afraid that one of the other queensguard might catch them unaware. Not that he’d put up much of an argument when she’d opened her gown for him.</p><p>“What are you smiling at, Mama?”</p><p>Dany clears her throat, shaking off her daughter’s curious look. “Never mind, my dragon cub. Look, we’re here.”</p><p>She leads them inside the tower’s common room. It’s a spacious area where the queensguard can relax together, no doubt sharing japes and stories. It’s deserted now, which Daenerys is surprised about but grateful for.</p><p>“Here.” She gestures to the huge white book which sits on the weirwood carved table. Two foot long and almost as wide, it cuts a majestic sight with its moth-eaten pages and cracked cover.</p><p>“What is it?” Daenora asks with wonder. Dany hefts her into her arms with difficulty, crossing the room to the table so she can see it better.</p><p>“This is the White Book,” she informs her. “It’s been around since Aegon the Conqueror’s days. It’s a record of every single person who has ever been a member of the Kingsguard. So you know what that means…”</p><p>Her daughter’s eyes glow with pride. “Papa is in here!”</p><p>“That’s right. Shall we find his page?”</p><p>“Yes! Yes!”</p><p>Laughing, Daenerys settles Daenora on the large table. Her little girl scrambles to get herself more comfortable, sitting cross-legged as Daenerys cracks the book open.</p><p>The pages smell like history, a thousand truths and a thousand lies forever dried on the yellow parchment, feats that can only be imagined in the mind now. She turns them all, pausing only to linger on Ser Barristan Selmy’s.</p><p><em>Brought King Aerys II to safety during the Defiance of Duskendale despite an arrow wound in the chest, </em>she reads, tracing the curves of the lettering.</p><p>There’s an ache deep in her chest. Ser Barristan was a good man, and a fine warrior. He would have been given his place amongst her Queensguard back if he had lived to make it here, though she isn’t sure how much he would have liked being under Jorah’s command. She’s aware of that undercurrent of rivalry that lay beyond the grudging respect.</p><p>Still, he should be here with them now. He’d deserved so much more than he got. A painful death in the back alleys of Mereen, like some drunken fool. He should have had a hero’s funeral.</p><p>“Mama?”</p><p>She’s shaken from her maudlin thoughts by Daenora’s curious face. She forces a smile.</p><p>“Its’s all right,” she reassures her. “Now, let’s find Papa’s page.”</p><p>Jorah’s is one of the last entries, of course. Heading the rest of the Queensguard, it makes for a magnificent sight.</p><p>“Here we are,” she tells her daughter. “Look, that’s Papa’s name—‘Jorah Mormont’.”</p><p>Not yet able to read, Daenora traces the outline of her papa’s name. In the top left hand corner is the Mormont sigil that is now so familiar throughout Westeros, the roaring bear on its back legs. On the opposite corner at the bottom is the crown surrounded by seven swords, the mark Aegon came up with for those sworn to protect him.</p><p>“Papa is supposed to write in this because he’s lord commander,” Dany tells her daughter, “but he never has on his own page.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“You know Papa. He’s not one to boast of his own achievements, not like other men.” That’s Tyrion’s favourite pastime.</p><p>“Who wrote this, then?” Daenora points at the page. “There are lots and lots and lots of words.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>wrote it,” says Daenerys. “I thought he should have his greatness chronicled, and who better than a queen to do that?” She tickles Daenora’s ribs and the little girl squeals, kicking out her legs.</p><p>“Read it?” she requests.</p><p>“Of course, my love. This is the history of your family. Your <em>Mormont </em>heritage. And that’s every bit as important as your Targaryen blood, no matter what people might try to tell you.” She knows, even now, that there are people who whisper that a lowborn knight isn’t good enough for a queen. That their offspring are tainted with blood that’s worthless for the illustrious descendants of Old Valyria, with the regal purple eyes and silver hair that mark them apart as more. Those whispers are so small she won’t give them the satisfaction of acknowledgement. But she knows Jorah still absorbs those comments, silently bearing them with grace, even though they are fools. She’d quite like to scare them with Drogon, but it would probably send the wrong message.</p><p>So she gets her revenge in any way she can. This is one of those ways.</p><p>Gathering Daenora into her arms, she sits down at the head of the table, the same seat Jorah occupies when he’s here with the rest of her Queensguard.</p><p>“Here we go…” she says, and Daenora settles back in her arms, enraptured.</p><p>The words come to her easily, because they are her words. She wanted to keep it queenly and authoritative, as factual as the rest of those pages. But it was hard. How could she have remained so clinical when there was so much attached to his achievements, their journey?</p><p>
  <em>Defeated a Dothraki bloodrider in single combat…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Witnessed the birth of the first living dragons in centuries…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Champion of the Mereneese Fighting Pits…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Survivor of greyscale…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Member of the brave group who ranged beyond the Wall to capture a wight…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hero of the Long Night, defending right from the front…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Saved his queen three times before she took her crown…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Winner of the Tourneys of the Queensguard and Gulltown…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Loved the queen from afar for many years and fought in her name with a fierce loyalty the world has never seen before…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Captured the queen’s heart and finally married her in the second year of her reign…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Father of the spring child Daenora…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Father of the summer child Eleana…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beloved throughout Westeros…</em>
</p><hr/><p>“What did you say to Nora?” Jorah says later that evening as he undresses for the night.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Daenerys asks innocently, clambering into bed.</p><p>“You’re terrible at playing the fool. Mostly because you’ve so rarely <em>been </em>one.”</p><p>“And you have,” she teases. “Many, <em>many </em>times.”</p><p>He shoots her a faux-disgruntled look. “Who was the one who said they’d been a fool not to realise what she could have had all along? You might not be a fool very often, Daenerys, but they are momentous occasions when you are.”</p><p>“That’s a cheap shot,” she laughs. “I caught up eventually!”</p><p>Grinning, he crosses the room to her side, sliding into bed beside her. She slips into his arms when he opens them to her. It’s so easy to do it now, so natural that she doesn’t have to think about it. She leans up to smack a kiss to his cheek before settling her head in the crook of his neck. Silence reigns for a moment before Jorah fills the darkness.</p><p>“Nora has been calling me a hero all evening, asking for details on all of my great deeds. Where might she have got such notions?”</p><p>“I have no idea.”</p><p>“Are you sure about that?”</p><p>Daenerys smirks, lifting her head so she can kiss him again, this time on the mouth. It’s a long kiss, slow, the delicate brushing of lips and tongue.</p><p>When they part, Jorah says, “There’s a secret in that kiss.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you mean. Anyway, I hope you filled Daenora in on those heroic exploits. She’ll be most disappointed if you haven’t.”</p><p>“I’m not a hero, Daenerys.”</p><p>“I think most of Westeros disagrees with you there.”</p><p>“I can’t pretend to be something I’m not for the children.’</p><p>“You’re not. You’re exactly who you say you are. And no matter what you say, you will <em>always </em>be a hero to them. Those things in the White Book aren’t tales. They’re truths. Why should your daughters not know what their father has achieved?”</p><p>“There are a thousand other men who have achieved more than I have.”</p><p>Daenerys rolls her eyes. “There’s a point when modesty becomes irritating.”</p><p>“I irritate you quite a lot, so it’s not something I’ll lose sleep over.”</p><p>“Gods, you’re impossible.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Daenerys rolls away from him, pushing herself up on an elbow so she can peer at him through the darkness. “It’s important that our children learn about both sides of their heritage. They will learn about the good and the bad if my family’s reign. We both want to raise them to be the right kind of people. But they need to know about <em>all </em>of their ancestry, and your is just as important as mine.”</p><p>“Hardly.”</p><p>“Of course it is. The Mormonts weren’t kings and queens but they were fierce and loyal warriors. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there.”</p><p>Jorah’s jaw tightens. “<em>I </em>am something to be ashamed of.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>“I’m not.” He scrubs a hand over his face, staring at the canopy above their heads. “Khaleesi, I did unforgivable things.”</p><p>“You helped me to free thousands of slaves. You’ve saved me a thousand times over.”</p><p>“But when the children find out…”</p><p>“They will love you anyway,” she reassures him, “because you have atoned for your mistakes. Because you are a good man. Because you have changed and grown. Because you are their father, and they know you would do anything for them. And the tales of your bravery will outlast everything else. So let them be proud of you the way I am.”</p><p>“Proud of me, eh?” he muses.</p><p>She strokes her thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone, finds those ice blue eyes which are sapphire in the candlelight.</p><p>“Every day,” she promises him.</p><p>Until the end of her days.</p><p>She’s proud of him, she loves him. At that thought, she remembers those feelings from earlier, that swooping sensation of falling for him all over again. That warmth that engulfs her, overwhelms her.</p><p>That same thing she is feeling right now, looking at those features that are as familiar to her as her own. This man who has shared every aspect of her life for so long, the only man she has ever trusted with every fibre of her being. The only man she would ever trust the lives of her children to, the man who knows her intimately mind, body, and soul.</p><p>Dany leans across to kiss him again, deeper, lingering, letting her mouth communicate what she wants. He doesn’t need her words. He never has.</p><p>He groans when they part, reaching out to cup her face as she shifts closer to him.</p><p>“Daenerys,” he breathes. She’s always loved the way he says her name, that rumble deep in his throat that makes her toes curl and her body respond in the most primitive fashion. She needs him. Desperately. Always. Around her, inside her.</p><p>She scrambles closer to him, winding her fingers through his thinning hair as he moves his attention to her collarbones, those strong, weathered hands bunching up her shift. Hoarse chuckles and soft kisses mark that darkness, and when Jorah flips them over to divest himself of his shirt, she sinks back against the pillows, running her fingers over the thick, knotted scars that mar his broad chest.</p><p>When he’s fully naked, she crosses her ankles around the small of his back, her breath strangled in her throat, tangled in those tendrils of lunar pleasure as he comes home.</p><p>Afterwards, she lays curled up against his side, her arm draped across his stomach, one of his hands lost in the tangle of her silver hair as she rests her head against his shoulder.</p><p>“I should add ‘incredible lover’ to your page in the White Book,” she says sleepily.</p><p>Jorah snickers, ghosting his lips against her temple. His scruff tickles her pleasantly. “I think that’s one accolade I <em>would </em>be happy with.”</p><p>“Then I’ll see to it in the morning: ‘most prolific sword skills Westeros has ever seen’…”</p><p>“Gods have mercy on us all,” he groans, and she laughs, squeezing him tighter as he pulls the furs over them, ever her protector.</p><p>She has no doubt that one day his page in the White Book will be filled with more glories yet to come.</p>
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